


every new beginning (comes from some other beginning's end)

by blondsak, seekrest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (and he gets one), Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Presumed Dead, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, defenestrating canon because of who we are as people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: Peter has no idea how long he lies there, the panicked hum in the back of his mind intermingling with the sound of wheels racing down a country road-- the two converging to form a distant but not unpleasant white noise, the sound sapping all rational thought as it nudges him toward the cliff of unconsciousness.Everything is becoming increasingly bleary, until all he can see when he opens his eyes are tiny puffs of air right in front of his nose.It must be cold where he is, Peter thinks as his eyelids droop again. That’s funny-- he doesn’t feel very cold.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 379
Kudos: 686





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [losingmymindtonight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/gifts).



> Happy Birthday losingmymindtonight! We hope you enjoy this huge dose of Peter Whump :) Thank you for all your wonderful stories, and just for being you!!

“Hello Peter, where would you like to go next?”

Peter swings, smiling under the mask as he says, “I don’t know, K. Surprise me.” He glances around, a low buzzing in the back of his mind as the sunlight starts to cast shadows over the city. 

It’d been a relatively quiet patrol all things considered, nothing too serious - even if Peter’s senses had hummed with an odd urgency all evening. 

A part of Peter chalks it up to residual nervousness about finally patrolling with May’s blessing, if he could even call it that. It’s the first time he’s been allowed out as Spider-Man after a month-long grounding, the longest that May had ever given him such a punishment. Peter can’t help but feel a wave of shame as he recalls how that first conversation had gone-- both better and worse than he could have hoped.

Peter had always imagined there would be lots of screaming and tears, but May hadn’t yelled - hadn’t so much as raised her voice after her initial outburst. Instead May had gone almost  _ silent _ \- asking Peter to explain.

He had, in almost too much detail - watching her eyes flash with indignation when he mentioned Tony Stark’s influence, May immediately cutting him off and demanding the man’s phone number. 

It had been the longest few minutes of Peter’s life as May lectured Mr. Stark over the phone, speaking in such a sharp, even tone that even if Peter’s senses were quiet - the sinking feeling in his stomach had only grown. 

Listening to her, Peter had felt a sharp pang in his gut as he realized that it’d been a terrible decision to lie to May, wincing at the memory of asking Mr. Stark’s to keep the truth hidden about what the trip to Germany had actually been for. Yet all Peter’s flimsy justifications about simply wanting to protect May had been immediately replaced by guilt at the tension radiating from her as they waited in silence for Mr. Stark’s arrival at their apartment. 

Peter guessed that he could hear halfway to Harlem with his super hearing - he didn’t know, he hadn’t really pushed his limits - but he almost dreaded listening in on the conversation the two adults had in their living room, Peter wringing his hands together in his bedroom as he waited. 

When he was finally called back in, it was settled - or about as settled as Peter guessed it could be. May had agreed for him to keep the suit for now but still grounded him for a month - something that Mr. Stark was in complete support of even if Peter could tell from May’s expression that she wouldn’t have cared in the slightest even if he had disagreed.

As part of the grounding, Peter hadn’t seen his mentor in the month since, but he had heard from him-- all the time, in fact. There were daily calls and texts to check in and see how Peter was doing, along with promises to get together at Mr. Stark’s lab in the city once his grounding had been lifted-- starting with this coming weekend, to Peter’s excited anticipation.

Utlimately Peter couldn’t blame May for her reaction or the resulting punishment, especially when he could still vividly remember how it’d felt when he sat on top of the Cyclone after his homecoming date from hell, looking out over the city and the wreckage of Mr. Stark’s plane - realizing for the first time just how  _ dangerous _ this life he was choosing really was. 

But now, the air rushing around him and the sights and sounds of the city all within his grasp - Peter is glad for the chance to try again, this time with the knowledge that he isn’t going behind anyone’s back to do so, the promise of meeting up with Mr. Stark this weekend hanging in the air.

Peter should’ve guessed by now that with Parker luck, nothing would ever go according to plan.

* * *

He’s mid-swing when he feels it, the low hum in the back of his mind turning into full-fledged panic when he hears the shrill cry of someone in danger. Peter turns as quickly as he can towards the sound, senses screaming as he gets nearer and nearer to the source.

There’s a man there fighting another guy at a churro stand while the owner runs in terror down the sidewalk, Peter seeing the telltale flash of metal - everything within him telling him to get away as far as he can even as he swings closer. 

It’s over before it even has the chance to begin, Peter shooting out a web that sends the guy with the gun straight back to the wall behind him - Peter landing and shooting off two more webs to make sure that he’s secure.

“Whoa, Spider-Man! Thanks!”

Peter’s senses are still going off as he looks around, nodding once at the churro guy in greeting before asking, “You alright man?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” the man replies, shaking his head furiously as he says, “Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever see Spider-Man again. You’ve been gone for awhile.”

Peter half-smiles under the mask, touched that the people of New York missed him as much as he’d missed this. But despite the danger seemingly having passed his body still feels wired and ready for a fight, senses screaming at him to get out of there even if he couldn’t pinpoint _ why _ exactly they wouldn't stop going off.

“Yeah well, gotta keep people on their toes. You sure you’re good?” Peter asks again, glancing back to the guy that’s webbed up to the wall before turning to the churro guy - seeing something flash behind his eyes as he smiles.

“Oh yeah, I’m  _ great _ now that you’re here,” he replies, grabbing something out of his pocket and immediately swinging towards Peter.

“Whoa what the--” Peter says, dodging it easily only to feel something sharp pierce him in the neck - distracted momentarily from moving away from the guy in front of him as he brings a hand back to whatever had shot him.

He pulls out the dart and glances at it curiously, only to immediately throw himself back when Churro Guy continues to jab at him with something that looks like a syringe.

“Dude what the hell? If this is some kind of new PR thing then--”

Peter senses the next dart, quickly dodging it as he glances around - trying to figure out where it’s coming from only for another to follow, Churro Guy swinging at Peter and distracting him again just in time for him to get hit with a second dart.

“Wow, this is-- this is super rude.” Peter’s legs wobble, Churro Guy finally getting a chance to advance towards him as he grabs Peter’s arm - Peter trying to pull away but suddenly unable to get out of the man’s grip. HIs senses are screaming louder than ever at him to move but it’s as if all Peter’s strength has been zapped out of him - slowly blinking at the man in front of him.

“Peter, your vitals are displaying signs of an unusually rapid onset of fatigue. Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark for assistance?” Karen asks politely.

Before Peter can reply, the man attacking him leans forward until he’s right in his face, Peter flinching when a hot, stinky breath leaks through his mask.

“Sweet dreams, Spider-Man,” Churro Guy says, sinking the syringe straight into Peter’s upper arm, the dose in it being enough for Peter’s knees to buckle just seconds later. 

Peter had lifted a building off of himself yet now with two doses of some kind of tranquilizer and God knows what else in the syringe, Peter feels weaker than he had even before the bite - his bones like jelly as he crumbles into the man’s arms, hearing the sound of a van coming up from behind him as it screeches to a halt.

Churro Guy says something in German, Peter too woozy to even try to follow what’s happening but vaguely aware he’s being hoisted into a van. Dark spots start to form in Peter’s vision, whatever sense of consciousness that he’d had only seconds before quickly disappearing before he can even think to try to hold onto it.

“Night night, little spider,” he hears Churro Guy say before he slips off into darkness, knocked out before his head even hits the floor of the van.

* * *

The first thing Peter becomes aware of is the cold. 

It’s everywhere,  _ freezing _ \- Peter shaking out of darkness purely from a shiver so violent that he convulses, blearily opening his eyes. 

He blinks, his face pressed against the cold floor of whatever place he’s in - the rumble of gravel beneath them and some music he can’t understand playing in the background both giving him a sense that he’s in some kind of vehicle, his last memory of being hauled into a van coming back to the forefront of his mind. 

That’s right-- Churro Guy had drugged him! That was mean of him...

Peter knows that realization should worry him more but the first thing that goes through his mind instead is panic at the idea of May finding out Peter’s already breaking his promise to follow her Spider-Man rules. He needs to get home soon or she might take away the suit again, and that would be… bad, right?

Yes, Peter decides hazily, that would be bad. Which means he can’t stay wherever he is-- he needs to go home.

With that vague goal in mind Peter goes to stand only to find that he can’t, slowly blinking at the ceiling vent directly blowing out freezing air above him as he recognizes the weight of some kind of cuffs around his wrists - a distant part of his mind telling him that they should be easy to break, and probably would be if he was a little less sleepy and weak-feeling.

It takes nearly all his energy but Peter manages to raise his head and look down at himself-- seeing thick metal wrapped around not only his wrists but also his ankles. More hazy panic rises up from the fog of his mind when he realizes he’s been stripped of his suit, left in only his boxers yet still wearing his watch-- a belated birthday gift from Mr. Stark that the man had sent over via courier just days into Peter’s grounding.

He tries to lift his hands to his face to check the time but his vision swims, Peter instinctively shutting his eyes tight in an effort to stave off the nausea roiling in his gut-- only for his head to slowly drop back down to the freezing floor of the van as a wave of exhaustion overtakes him.

He has no idea how long he lies there, the panicked hum in the back of his mind intermingling with the sound of wheels racing down a country road-- the two converging to form a distant but not unpleasant white noise, the sound sapping all rational thought as it nudges him toward the cliff of unconsciousness. 

Yet with every step he takes toward the precipice the hum in his head spikes, causing Peter’s eyes to slit open in a weary effort to scan the small space for any source of possible danger. 

But everything is becoming increasingly bleary, until all he can see when he opens his eyes are tiny puffs of air right in front of his nose.

It must be cold where he is, Peter thinks as his eyelids droop again. That’s funny-- he doesn’t feel very cold.

At some point in his drifting there’s a big bump in the road, the jarring movement rousing Peter just enough that he is able to register voices coming from the front cab as someone yells what sound like curses at the other - Peter trying to pick up on the conversation only for his mind to go fuzzy again, vaguely recognizing that one of the voices is familiar to him even if he can’t seem to figure out why.

The answer is right there - just on the tip of his tongue. But whatever shred of momentary coherency he had achieved is already slipping away, Peter shivering once more as he lazily blinks.

He isn’t supposed to be here, he knows that much - the cold hard floor and rhythmic bouncing back and forth from whatever cumbersome vehicle he’s in telling him that he’s going… somewhere. 

The thought occurs to him that he’s not supposed to be going anywhere that May doesn’t know about, that he is supposed to check in with her as soon as he gets home-- Peter’s head lolling back as the van goes over another bump.

The voices continue to argue back and forth in what Peter thinks is German but can’t quite pinpoint, his whole body feeling like lead as he the van rumbles on - his head even more so, the act of trying to hold on to consciousness feeling more and more like trudging through wet cement. 

May will be worried if he isn’t home soon, Peter is sure of that. But he can no longer muster up any concern over panicking her, his eyelids closing and opening over and over until even the panicked hum can’t get them to blink open again-- Peter distantly aware that in the short time he’s been awake, he’s already stopped shivering.

That’s bad, though why it is Peter can’t recall - his mind losing all sense of logical awareness as his breathing slows, the tiny puffs getting fewer and farther between.

He should probably be worried about that too, but no matter how hard Peter tries-- his brain just can’t seem to figure out why.

Eventually the only sense Peter has of time passing comes when the hum in his head screeches at the highest pitch it can reach. Yet Peter can no longer discern any reason to pay attention to it, feeling suddenly warm-- lazily wondering if someone had put a blanket over him but too exhausted to open his eyes and check. 

Maybe they’d seen him shivering and gotten worried.

He  _ had _ been shivering before…

Right?

Peter doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that he has to get back to May, or she would be upset because… 

Because… 

Peter can’t remember. 

God, he’s so tired now-- maybe he’ll take a nap. 

Yeah, that’s a good idea-- he’ll take a nap, just a short one. 

And then maybe when he wakes up, this will all make sense. 

Decision made, Peter quits trying to focus-- random thoughts sparking in his brain only to sputter out before he can fully process them, time losing all sense of meaning for him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Wasn’t I cold before?  _

  
  
  
  
  


_ But I feel so warm…  _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Where am I?  _

  
  
  
  


_ Oh, that’s right, going somewhere…  _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Where am I going? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ I’m so hungry, I wish I had a churro…  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Churros… I like churros…  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ This blanket must be super thick, I’m so warm now…  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Could just take a nap…  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Wait, I have to tell May I’m gonna be late coming home… cause I’m-- I’m--- _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Where am I? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


And just before he falls over the edge--

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ My suit… where did my suit go?  _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ I need to get that back _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Mr. Stark will get angry, if I lose it _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ He’ll take it away again _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ I don’t want Mr. Stark to be mad... _

  
  
  
  


It’s the last thought Peter has for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

Awareness, if it could even be called that, comes to Peter in waves.

  
  


_Ow, that hurt…_

  
  
  
  
  


_Warm…_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Why is it… so warm…_

  
  
  
  
  
  


_The floor is bumpy_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Hah. Bump… that’s a funny word…._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Ow… stop…. stop bumping…._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Peter feels lost, held down by some kind of invisible weight - tangentially aware that there’s nothing over him yet feeling it all the same.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Where am I?_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_I’m… I’m—_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There’s a rolling sound in the background - distant, like how he and Ned used to play telephone through cheap plastic cups from Delmar’s.

  
  
  
  
  


_I’m going somewhere…_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Where am I going?_

  
  
  
  
  


Wherever he is, Peter is suddenly thrown forward - rolling onto his stomach, the world around him shifting through sudden starts and stops. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


_What’s… what’s happening?_

  
  
  
  
  


His body feels heavy, weighed down by… something. His mind is trying and failing to fill in the gaps of where he is or what’s going on, shouts and something that sounds almost like fireworks going off as the vehicle starts to move again, faster than it had before. 

Everything is muffled, Peter’s mind bringing up how he’d felt the last time he’d had a sinus infection - achy and cold and his head feeling like lead.

But with whatever is weighing him down, Peter’s unable to wrestle himself out from under it - groggily trying to make sense of his surroundings but finding that he can’t. 

He’s… still moving. Peter knows that, the faster the vehicle drives, the more that awareness comes back to him… inch by inch as if slowly peeling back layers. 

The shouts from the front are starting to get more and more frantic, though why - Peter can’t make sense of it. 

A wave of nausea passes over him as his body rolls again, flipping so that he’s on his back - though he can’t bring himself to open his eyes to double check.

He should, there’s something… happening. 

It’s right there, right on the edge of his fingertips - even if he can’t quite feel them. Peter knows that something is wrong, but he can’t figure out _what_ \- a vague memory - his brain feeling like May’s old record player when it skipped, stuck in a loop that he can’t pull himself out from.

He can’t feel his arms or his legs, vaguely aware that he has a body at all because of the constant jerking of wherever he is - the frantic yells in a language that he knows he recognizes and yet _can’t_ put a name to. 

But just as suddenly as it starts, it’s ended - hearing another sound that Peter _knows_ but can’t quite place - a sound that’s part of his earliest memories but how, he doesn’t know.

Wherever he is - a _truck_ some distant part of Peter’s mind supplies - comes to a sudden stop, Peter’s whole body rolling until it hits something hard and unyielding. 

Peter hears doors slamming, and then people shouting-- followed shortly by the sound of… gunshots?

He should probably go help whoever is being shot at, he thinks-- but the thought sticks in his mind about as well as water cupped in hands, falling through the fingers of his memory.

He’d be more worried for the person being attacked if he could even make sense of where he is, but as it is - there’s still a low hum in the background as another whine of something loud and familiar rings in the background a few times.

All of a sudden the distant shouting and gunshots come to an abrupt end, leaving silence in their wake before Peter picks up the sound of another voice close by-- one he’s sure he knows.

“Talk to me, FRI,” he hears the voice say, “Where is he?”

Another voice rings out, sharp and tinny, “There are no other life forms detected, boss.” 

Peter hears the first voice sigh, frustrated as it mutters, “That can’t be right, there’s-- his watch says that he’s--”

There’s a sharp inhale, Peter wondering what that could possibly mean when suddenly there’s another awful sound, like metal being broken apart - grating against his ears but being unable to shy away from it, still shackled by whatever’s weighing him down. 

The awful sound ends abruptly, followed shortly by _clinks_ \-- metal against metal. 

“Peter?” the first voice calls out, much closer now-- then more panicked, “Peter!”

Whoever the person is, they race over-- Peter feeling metallic fingers wrap around his bicep, turning him from his side where he’s still tucked up against the hard surface and onto his back.

The feel of the warm - well, warmer than the floor he’s on anyway - metal on his arm has Peter’s woozy mind suddenly conjuring up an image of a red and gold robot flying through the sky. 

It’s achingly familiar somehow, though he can’t place how or why. Maybe a toy Ben and May got for him as a kid?

_Oh no. May’s gonna be so mad I didn’t call… I need to call her, right?_

_…where am I?_

The robot man looking him over must not like what they see, a sharp gasp escaping them as their hand moves from Peter’s arm to his cheek, cupping it gently.

“Peter? Peter, wake up.”

Peter tries to turn away from Robot Man’s touch, wanting nothing more than to fall back over the edge and drift again-- but finds he can’t escape it. He’s at the mercy of whoever has him in their grip.

_Let me sleep. I just want to sleep,_ he tries to say, but the person must not have heard because they tap his cheek, calling out his name a few more times before moving their fingers to his neck.

For a few blissful seconds there’s silence. Peter thinks Robot Man is finally letting him rest again, and he starts to sink back down into the abyss-- only for the hand to move back to his cheek, plain human fingers ghosting over his nostrils and mouth.

“No, no, no,” the person mutters, and even trapped in the soupy fog of his mind-- Peter can hear the mounting panic in their tone.

“Vitals, FRI-- now!”

“Mr. Parker is displaying no vital signs, boss.”

“No, no no--”

The hand ghosting over Peter’s lips and nose moves then, metal encasing it once more as it maneuvers underneath Peter’s back just as an arm slips under his knees. Before Peter can protest again, he is hoisted into the robot person’s arms and carried away.

A distant part of Peter knows he should be scared that some Robot Man is apparently kidnapping him, but something else - something bigger and more encompassing - can only muster up the feeling of being _safe._

Whoever Robot Man is, their heartbeat is going a hundred miles an hour, and the sound of it causes fear to waft in through the barrier of mist in Peter’s mind. A sudden, unanticipated concern for the Robot Man pierces him, Peter having an odd but pressing urge to ask if he’s okay. 

As if the very thought of Robot Man being hurt or in danger is a trigger, the muted hum from before buzzes back to life, albeit still stifled-- almost as if it’s calling out to the man in Peter’s stead. Peter lazily wonders if Robot Man can hear it too.

He doesn’t know where Robot Man is taking him, but wherever it is-- it’s already warmer than where he was before, the air around him caressing his skin like the sun on a summer’s day.

Funny, Peter’s fairly certain it isn’t summer… is it?

He tries to move his lips to ask Robot Man but they won’t cooperate, and anyway-- Robot Man seems like he has far larger concerns than Peter not knowing the season.

“You need to wake up now,” Robot Man pleads with someone, and Peter wonders who he’s talking to. Whoever they are, they clearly matter to Robot Man a lot, judging by how frantic the man sounds. “Stay with me, kid.”

Just then Robot Man lays Peter back down on the ground-- the surface softer and more welcoming than the icy floor he’d been on before.

_Grass_ , Peter’s mind supplies when tiny blades scratch at his back. Robot Man had laid him down in a bed of grass.

“FRI, engage my right gauntlet.”

Peter thinks then that Robot Man must have set him down so he can go to help the kid he mentioned, but instead he stays with Peter-- a metal palm landing squarely over Peter’s bare chest.

“Check again, FRI,” Robot Man ordered, voice wobbling at the end.

The metal palm is squarely over Peter’s heart, pressing down hard but not so hard as to be uncomfortable. It’s also trembling, Peter realizes. 

Odd-- he didn’t think robots could tremble. 

But then, Robot Man does seem very scared, and also has a heartbeat. Maybe he’s only half-robot?

“I’m sorry, boss,” the tinny voice from before says, interrupting Peter’s thoughts. “There’s nothing.”

The metallic hand on Peter’s chest graduates to full-on shaking then, only for the hum in Peter’s head to spike when a wretched cry unlike any Peter can recall hearing before erupts from Robot Man’s throat.

Peter feels hands grip his shoulders as his torso is raised off the ground, Robot Man giving him a good shake.

“C’mon underoos. You gotta-- you gotta give me something, kid. Fight, dammit!”

_Kid,_ Peter thinks, mulling the word over again-- the sound of it spoken by Robot Man’s voice feeling very familiar now. _Does he mean me?_

His question is answered when Robot Man continues, yelling, “You haven’t given up a damn day in your life, Pete. Don’t you dare quit now, you hear me? _Fight!”_

He’s shaken again, this time more roughly-- Peter feeling his head fall back and roll to the side.

The tinny voice speaks up, “Boss, you are showing signs of an oncoming panic attack. I must suggest--”

“Peter… Peter, _please--”_

“Boss, your heart rate is increasing rapidly. If you don’t calm down, you might--”

“FRIDAY, mute,” Robot Man grinds out, and the tinny voice falls silent.

For a few moments there’s nothing but the sound of wind through grass and choked breaths, Peter using the silence to try make sense of the situation. 

He could still hear Robot Man’s heartbeat, and the tinny voice was right-- it’s going fast, every few beats irregular. Hearing the staccato causes the hum in Peter’s mind to jump to the forefront, like someone turning up the static on a television.

The distraction serves to clear up some of the fog in his mind, Peter coming to a sudden realization: Robot Man’s heart is stuttering because of _him._

He’d been begging Peter to do… something. What was it?

_Fight,_ Peter’s mind supplies. But fight against what?

Maybe if he asks, Robot Man will explain. But just as before, getting his lips to move feels like a Herculean effort-- Peter unable to do anything more than get a corner of his mouth to twitch. 

But before he can try again, he feels himself being pulled forward until he’s leaning against Robot Man’s warm metal chest plate, Peter’s ear resting only inches above the man’s abnormally fast heart. 

Robot Man warps metal fingers around the back of Peter’s neck gently, almost reverently-- leaning over so his lips rest just over the crown of Peter’s head-- Peter feeling something warm and wet land in his curls. 

Robot Man’s shoulders jerk once, and again on the next breath-- Peter having another realization. 

Robot Man is crying-- crying over _Peter._

But why? Peter hasn’t gone anywhere…

Right? 

“Don’t tell anybody, but I was excited for this weekend, kid,” Robot Man says into his hair, sounding almost manic. “Already cleared off a bench in my lab for you-- spent a whole night putting together a personalized holo-interface that connects to your AI. Hell, I even designed specs for an upgrade to your web-shooters. I almost built the prototype last week, but I thought-- I thought maybe it’d be better to do it with you. Thought I’d-- that I’d make it this whole big thing, went so far as to print up a damn certificate to make the internship official.”

A bitter chuckle escapes him then, the hopelessness bleeding from the sound only serving to make Peter feel more sad and worried. 

“I just wanted to surprise you, and I guess also-- to make sure you knew I cared. That you knew I wasn’t gonna drop you again, that I wasn’t going to let you-- let you _down_ ever again.”

Another sob spills out, a full-body one that shakes Peter’s own.

“Fuck, Peter. Please kid, please wake up. _Please.”_

Peter tries to speak again, wanting so badly to soothe Robot Man’s fears-- though exactly why, he’s not sure. 

But the fog - even if it seems to be slowly clearing - is still too great, and the command short-circuits before it ever reaches his lips. 

After a few more moments Robot Man chin wobbles, and Peter can feel the tension in his jaw as he minutely shakes his head, burying his face into Peter’s curls. He takes a shuddering breath, then another more steady one-- Peter hearing his heart slow down incrementally as he seems to come to an unspoken decision.

“Not sleeping,” Robot Man whispers then, voice soft and shattered. “Dead.”

_Dead? Who’s dead?_

_He doesn’t mean me, does he?_

Robot Man pulls away then, Peter feeling the man’s gaze on him even if he can’t open his eyes to see it. 

“I’m gonna get you back to the compound, kiddo, okay?” Robot Man says, voice breaking on the last word. “But you don’t have to be scared. I won’t-- I won’t drop you, I swear. I got you, Peter. I--I _got_ you.”

Robot Man tucks the arm that had been around Peter’s waist underneath his knees then, goes to stand with Peter in his arms. Not two seconds later Peter feels the rush of wind on his face, the sound of some kind of rocket blasters a constant noise beneath him. 

Distantly he’s aware that he’s flying in open air. That should probably frighten him, but-- it doesn’t. 

Because Robot Man has him securely held, and well-- Peter feels safe with him, the hum in the back of his mind hardly present as they head toward somewhere Peter hopes is quiet, but more than that-- warm.

Because he’s starting to feel the chill of the air again, his body minutely shivering as it grows colder… or maybe he’s warming up? Wherever he had been before, he can’t remember just now-- but he does recall it had been freezing there.

Peter drifts again, only to come back to minimal awareness when Robot Man finally speaks.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Robot Man whispers, Peter barely catching it between the sound of the blasters and the wind rushing in his ears. “This is all my fault. I almost got you killed once before, and now-- now fate’s making me pay up in full, and you’re just a damn _kid,_ you don’t - _didn’t_ \- need any of this crap, and…”

Another sob, Peter’s head lolling back just a tiny bit-- Robot Man gripping him tighter in response.

“Fuck, I’m-- I’m just so fuckin’ sorry.” Robot Man pauses, another bitter chuckle escaping him. “But that’s all I’m good for, aren’t I? Being sorry after the fact. Only giving a real damn after the people I care about are hurt, or-- or worse.”

Robot Man sniffles, voice louder when he goes on, saying, “‘Tony Stark, ladies and gentleman! He might be Iron Man to the world now, but he’ll always be the Merchant of Death to those he loves.’”

If Peter could have gasped then, he would have. _Tony Stark. Iron Man. Tony Stark. Iron Man. Tony--_

_Mr. Stark!_ Peter tries to say, but nothing comes out. He’s about to attempt to speak once more when they touch down on the ground, Mr. Stark hiking Peter’s body up so that his head rests on the man’s shoulder. In the distance Peter can hear shouting, and a cart being wheeled across a grassy field.

_C’mon Peter, you can do this, c’mon, just one word--_

Mr. Stark waits in silence, and Peter can still hear his heartbeat jump out of rhythm with every other breath. The man is vibrating with tension and grief, Peter’s senses picking up on it more and more now that the haze in his mind has cleared incrementally.

“I won’t ever forgive myself, kid,” Mr. Stark whispers before pressing a kiss to his forehead, and Peter thinks, _c’mon Spider-Man._ “Not for this. Not ever.”

_C’mon Spider-Man, c’mon Spider-Man, c’mon--_

Peter blinks open one eyelid, then the other. Mr. Stark’s face is inches from his own, but the man’s gaze is fixed upward toward the sky-- eyes wide and red-rimmed. Beyond him are a thousand stars twinkling in the night, and Peter wonders what his mentor is thinking.

“Ms’r S’ark,” he says. 

Mr. Stark’s head twists down to look at Peter so fast he’s certain the man will have whiplash, eyes going impossibly large as he stares at Peter, the two of them blinking at each other.

_“Peter?”_

But just speaking those two words has zapped all the energy out of Peter, and his eyes close again even as Mr. Stark calls his name over and over, only to exchange words with others over Peter’s head as the cart comes to a stop right next to them-- Peter feeling himself gently laid down.

“Peter. Kid-- say something!”

_Can’t. Too tired,_ Peter tries to explain, though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t quite manage it. 

Distantly, he feels Mr. Stark’s fingers run through his hair one final time before his hand disappears as the cart is wheeled away.

Peter can feel himself slipping back into the grips of unconsciousness even as Mr. Stark calls out, “Stay with me, kid!”

He wants to stay, he does. But the oncoming oblivion doesn’t seem to care what he wants.

With a last fleeting thought of concern for his mentor, Peter tumbles back over the cliff and into the infinite dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Unlike before, awareness doesn’t come to Peter in waves. It comes suddenly, all at once - his senses assaulted by everything that’s surrounding him. 

He can hear the beeping of something that he knows to be a heart monitor, the scratchiness of the tape around his arm and the feel of blankets on top of him - aware of voices talking in the distances, though what they’re saying he can’t decipher.

It occurs to Peter that he could listen, if he focused for even a second - like a radio flipping through frequencies. But it’s all too much, everything dropping in and out of focus to the point that it hurts, like it did in the first few days after he’d gotten bit. 

There’s so much to take in that it’s overwhelming, almost painful in how much sound is around him. But then Peter’s distracted by something that’s closer to him, focused on the beating of someone’s heart right beside him - letting it anchor him to wherever he is. 

He tries to move towards it but finds he can’t, his legs and his head still feeling weighed down - though the longer Peter’s more aware of his surroundings, the more it feels as if the weight is slowly being lifted. 

He can feel his fingers twitch, moving his legs as he tries to get out from underneath whatever is pinning him down. Peter lets out a soft grunt, turning his head and hearing the heart monitor start to beat a little faster. 

“Peter?” he hears a voice whisper, followed by a rustle of papers and a coffee cup being set down. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay.” 

He feels the hand to his forehead, softly brushing his hair back and he instantly feels at peace - knowing that touch and that voice anywhere as she whispers, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

It’s enough confirmation to know that whatever happened to him - wherever he is - he’s safe, May’s gentle touch grounding him until the heart monitor starts to slow, the beeping lulling him back to sleep. 

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he hears May whisper, though this time the sound feels as if it’s underwater - Peter already starting to drift back to wherever he’d been before. 

He is safe, May said he’s safe. 

A thought occurs to him that he’d already been safe before, that he’d felt it before….

But before he has the chance to think about it anymore, Peter’s already gone - drifting back into a dreamless sleep. 

  
  


* * *

The second time Peter wakes, it’s more gradual - like waking up from a long nap, his arms and legs feeling stiff like they hadn’t moved in awhile.

He flexes his fingers, clenching his hands into fists a few times before he slowly opens his eyes - hearing the soft beeping of a heart monitor. 

Peter glances up to the ceiling and then over to his side, lazily blinking only to see May smiling at him - reaching a hand out till it rests on top of his.

“Hey sweetheart,” she whispers, Peter blinking a few times before furrowing his eyebrows, May understanding his question before he asks it as she says, “You’re okay, you’re at Stark’s compound upstate.”

Her smile becomes a little more tense, Peter absorbing the information as he tries to remember how exactly he’d gotten here - flashes of images and sensations that don’t make sense to him as he garbles out, “Am I trouble?”

May lets out a small laugh, gently brushing her thumb across his hand, “Yes, you _absolutely_ are trouble, Pete. I swear, it’s like you’re a magnet for it.”

Peter blinks, trying to sit up as May clicks her tongue, “It’s okay, Pete. Don’t--”

“I feel… funny,” Peter says, ignoring May’s attempts as he shifts himself, his tongue feeling slightly heavy in his mouth. 

He can see her soft smile tighten, the way her eyes crinkle as she stares at him before saying, “You got drugged, Pete. Pretty bad, from what the doctor said.”

The mention of drugs brings up another vague memory for Peter, something to do with… churros? But his mind is still having a hard time putting the pieces in place or even finding all of them, like how it was when he and Ned first started putting a Lego set together. 

“The doctor also said your metabolism is doing most of the work to get it out of your system,” May continues, brushing her thumb again over his knuckles. “You’ve always been a little of an overachiever.”

It’s as if that snaps a piece together in his memory, remembering the guilt and worry he had about going somewhere without May knowing.

“May, I’m s’rry,” Peter slurs, frowning as he tries again, “I’m sorry.”

May’s smile falls, tilting her head as she asks, “Sorry? For what, Pete?”

The fog clouding his mind is lifting but not enough for him to actually cut through it effectively, blinking a few times before he says, “I’m sorry for… being trouble.”

He licks his lips, the more he’s awake - the more the side effects of whatever had been through his system fades away, catching the look on May’s face.

“Peter, you might be trouble but you’re not _in_ trouble,” she says, shifting her hand so it’s intertwined with his, “I’m just-- I’m just so glad you’re okay, sweetheart. It was pretty scary for a while there.”

Peter blinks, fuzzy images and sensations coming back to him.

He remembers grass, remembers a chill in the air and being carried…

But the thing Peter remembers most is the person who found him, glancing around the room before asking, “Where’s Mr. Stark?”

May’s lips press firmly together, the tightness in her smile returning as she says, “According to his AI he’s been ‘busy’ but he should be here any minute now to check in. He uh,” she lets out another sharp laugh, “he can be… stubborn, when he wants to be.”

Peter isn’t entirely sure what she means by that but sets his confusion aside for now, focusing instead on her and her alone-- his shame for worrying her from before still lingering in his mind.

“I’m so sorry, May,” Peter says again, seeing her frown before amending, “for everything.”

“Peter, getting kidnapped wasn’t your fault—“

“Not for that,” Peter interjects, “for um, for not telling you everything before.” 

He smiles, gripping her hand tighter. “I know we never really talked about it and now that I uh, got myself in whatever I did… I get why you were mad.”

May grows quiet, studying Peter for a moment before leaning forward, bringing her free hand to rifle through his hair.

She smiles, eyes dancing across his face before saying, “I _was_ mad, but not at you. Mad at myself, for not figuring it out sooner. Upset that you didn’t feel that you could trust _me_ with this but,” May laughs, “can’t say it’s a fair fight to try and compete with Iron Man.”

“Mr. Stark didn’t mean to—“ Peter begins, only for May to shake her head.

“Tony Stark should’ve _never_ taken you anywhere or agreed to _anything_ without talking to me first, especially,” she raises an eyebrow,” if my then- _fourteen year-old_ nephew asked him to. That’s not okay, Peter.”

Peter’s shoulder’s sag, closing his eyes and feeling that same guilt bubble up as he starts to say, “I know, I’m—“

“But if it hadn’t been for Tony Stark,” May says, Peter hearing the slight waver in her tone, “I don’t want to think of what would’ve happened to you last night.”

Peter opens his eyes, about to ask what exactly happened - knowing he’s still missing entire chunks of events - but stopping when he sees the tears in May’s gaze as she brings her hand to his chin. “No more secrets. It’s just you and me, kiddo.”

Peter nods, smiling back at her as May nudges at his chin with her finger, bringing her hand down. 

“I promise I’ll be more careful,” he says, letting his questions drop for now. 

He knows it’s the right decision when May’s smile grows wider. “I know you will, Pete. Just like I’ll try and,” she waves her free hand around, “figure out a way not to panic at the thought of you going out every night.”

Something clenches at Peter’s insides at that, wishing that he would be able to promise her that he could stop completely but knowing just as well as she did from the look in her eyes, that that would be a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep.

Yet before he can say anything else, he hears someone else come up to the door, glancing to it a half-second before a familiar face pops in and whispers, “Mrs. Parker, how are you—“

Mr. Stark stills for a moment, shocked at seeing Peter already awake before he cautiously steps just a foot into the room - looking as unsure of himself as Peter’s even seen him. He glances between May and Peter before finally settling on May.

“I’m— I’m sorry to interrupt, I can—“

“No,” May says, “come on in. I think it’s time you two had a chat anyway.”

“Really, I can—“

“Stark,” May says firmly, Peter watching as Mr. Stark stiffens a little, “Please.”

Peter glances between the two of them, more than a little confused at what was going on but his mind still working against him in trying to put the pieces together.

The last time Peter had seen them in a room together, May had nearly radiated with anger - Mr. Stark taking it all in stride.

This time it was different, as if there was some kind of silent conversation happening between them but what about exactly, Peter didn’t know - especially when it looked like Mr. Stark was about to jump out of his skin. 

May turns to Peter, a soft smile on her face before going to stand - leaning down to kiss him on the temple. “I’m gonna go get some coffee. I’ll be back in a few minutes okay?”

Peter nods again, still feeling a little confused - catching May giving Mr. Stark some kind of pointed look but being unable to decipher it before she leaves. 

He listens as May’s footsteps descend down the hall before they reach an elevator, disappearing for good. Peter turns back to Mr. Stark who is now standing awkwardly by the bed with his arms crossed and staring intently at Peter’s monitors with far-away eyes.

Peter might still be pretty out of it, but he knows what it looks like when someone is trying to look distracted as a way to avoid something. Well, if Mr. Stark won’t start the conversation, Peter thinks, he figures he’ll just have to.

“Mr. Stark?”

The man swipes at his nose, a small sigh escaping his before he finally turns his gaze to Peter. “Yeah kid?”

Peter lifts one corner of his lips, still feeling pretty out of it when he waves a hand at the chair May had vacated. “You can, uh-- sit down. If you want.”

Mr. Stark sniffs, glancing at the chair and back at Peter before taking a seat. There’s more awkward silence for a few moments before the older man sighs again, looking over at the door-- eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape that would be less conspicuous than simply walking out.

“Actually, you know what-- I think this is a bad idea right now,” Mr. Stark suddenly announces, starting to stand up. “You can’t see yourself but you’re doing a pretty convincing impression of roadkill at the moment, kid. It’s probably better to wait til--”

“What happened, Mr. Stark?” Peter interrupts, too curious and just loopy enough to chance annoying the man-- watching as Mr. Stark settles back into his seat, looking resigned. “I remember getting attacked by this guy at a churro stand and then a dart hitting me and being tossed into a-- van, I think? But then it all gets kinda… fuzzy.”

Mr. Stark’s eyes darken then, glancing down at Peter’s blankets, and Peter can already tell he’s not about to get the full story, at least not without some prodding.

“It was a set-up,” Mr. Stark explains. “A pair of ex-Hydra assholes came after you. They were on their way with you to a new cell up in Vermont when your aunt called me-- said you were late. I swear, kid, she must have a danger sense of her own because she was _adamant_ you wouldn’t screw around your first night back on patrol. So I checked the GPS and sure enough-- your suit was laying in a dumpster two blocks off Astoria Boulevard while your watch was taking a wander down a backroad two hundred miles north.”

“My watch has GPS in it?” Peter asks, incredulous at the casual admission. “You didn’t tell me that!”

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes. “You were drugged and kidnapped, and _that’s_ the part you focus on?”

“Don’t you think someone deserves to know if they were given a device that tracks them? That’s-- that’s super invasive, Mr. Stark!”

Mr. Stark shrugs, looking around twelve percent as guilty as Peter thinks he ought to. “It’s not like I watch your every move, kid. It’s not even giving off a signal unless I trigger the emergency code to activate it-- and good thing I put it in there too, or I might never have found you before…”

Mr. Stark trails off, looking away. 

“Before what?” Peter asks.

Mr. Stark shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, I got you out of there before those idiots could do any lasting damage.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to remember, nothing coming to mind at first. But then a shiver suddenly runs through him and with it a sense-memory of cold-- no, not just cold, but--

“Freezing,” Peter whispers, a small gasp escaping him with the word. “I remember, I was-- I was _freezing.”_

Mr. Stark glances up sharply, a dark look in his eyes as he stares hard at Peter. “The dumbasses threw you into the back of an unmarked ice truck. Apparently they stole the thing the day before but didn’t bother to figure out how to work the temperature in the back, or even how to turn it off. Told the suits at SHIELD they had no idea you were becoming a human popsicle back there while they were mucking about in the front listening to the fuckin’ Top 40 and--”

Mr. Stark cuts himself off, clasping his right hand around his left wrist and looking away from Peter again, a look of venomous disgust on his face. But what he’s already said triggers another memory, Peter recalling Mr. Stark’s voice - desperate and wrecked - begging for Peter to wake up and then--

_'Not asleep… dead.'_

The memory is hazy but it’s enough for Peter to come to a conclusion: whatever state Mr. Stark had found Peter in, it must have looked very, _very_ bad.

“Was I,” Peter begins, only to pause when he sees the foreboding in Mr. Stark’s eyes as he glances back up at him. Peter licks his lips. “Am I gonna be okay?”

Mr. Stark nods, sighing again-- this time with clear relief. “Your spider DNA… Dr. Cho thinks it sent you into some kind of stasis, effectively shutting your body down to protect itself from damage by using the cold to keep your systems, well-- suspended, for lack of a better word.”

Peter gapes, eyes going wide. “You mean, like-- like Captain America in the ice?”

At the mention of Steve Rogers his mentor’s eyes narrow, but if the mention of the man irks him he doesn’t say so-- just gives a tight nod. “Something like that.”

“Whoa.”

Mr. Stark huffs out a small laugh. “Yeah, _whoa.”_

Peter smiles at the teasing tone in the man’s voice, only for his face to fall just slightly when Mr. Stark leans forward, steepling his fingers and looking more serious than Peter had seen him since their fight on the roof nearly two months earlier.

“Listen, Pete,” Mr. Stark begins, “I think once you’re recovered and able to go home, it might be best if we keep our distance from each other. Just put the kibosh on hangouts in the city and weekends out here-- the whole ‘internship,’ for that matter.”

“What?” Peter asks, expression falling farther - his confusion mounting even more so. “But-- why?”

Mr. Stark grimaces, looking crestfallen himself for just a moment before he turns determined once more. “According to those two goons currently in SHIELD custody, you only got on the cell’s radar because you were all over the world’s airwaves following your fight with Toomes… a fight which was only major international news in the first place because it was my plane full of tech that crashed-- because it was associated with _me._ That-- that puts a target on your back, kid, a damn big one… and it’s not going to go away as long as you’re around me. Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

Peter bites his cheek, trying not to let the feeling of rejection that’s threatening to overwhelm him at Mr. Stark’s words take control. But it’s hard to keep the hurt from his voice when he grinds out, “So, what? You’re-- you’re just gonna drop me again? Just like that?”

Mr. Stark closes his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead before looking back up at Peter and shaking his head. “No. I promised your aunt the same thing I'm promising you now. This isn’t like last time, okay? I’ll still be here for tech upgrades - I already got a dozen planned as a result of last night, in fact - and anytime Spidey needs me, I’m there. But the rest…”

Mr. Stark palms his chin resignedly, a faraway look in his eyes when he continues, “Look, kid. I know this might not make sense to you - it sure as hell didn't to May - but anyone who gets into my orbit for long enough-- they _always_ crash. And it’s my job to keep you safe from all that crap, as much as I can.”

Peter’s lips twist, all the things Mr. Stark isn’t saying outright coming together-- Peter recognizing even when feeling hurt and exhausted that Mr. Stark’s reasoning for pushing him away this time is borne from not anger or disappointment, but fear.

Peter might not be as smart as Mr. Stark or even an adult yet, but if there’s one thing he _has_ learned, it’s that being afraid isn’t a reason-- it’s an excuse. 

“That’s still dropping me,” Peter mutters, then louder, “only this time you’re saying it’s not because I’m not ready but because of you. Because you think if I’m near you then… you could what, lose me? So instead you’re going to force me to stay away, but that’s-- that’s absolute bullshit, Mr. Stark."

“And pray tell, what part of me being the reason you got _kidnapped_ is bullshit, as you say?”

“The part where I went after Toomes by myself, without your help,” Peter says, Mr. Stark grimacing as if recalling a bad memory in response. “So me getting taken and freezing or whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Sometimes bad things just-- just happen.”

Mr. Stark’s jaw snaps shut, before he lets out another sad chuckle. “Agree to disagree. Either way, kid, you have no idea the things I’ve let happen before-- hell, the things I’ve _done_ before.”

“Okay, sure, maybe I don’t know all that stuff,” Peter concedes. “But I also don’t care, because... because I know _you,_ Mr. Stark. And now you’re-- you’re trying to push me away to protect me. But pushing away people that you-- that matter to you, even if you’re only doing it to protect them… that’s just letting the bad guys win.”

Mr. Stark cocks his head. “How do you figure that?”

Peter shrugs as if it’s obvious. “Because all it does is leave _both_ of us more vulnerable and… and alone. But we have to stick together or else-- or else we’ll definitely lose.”

For a few seconds Mr. Stark just stares, expression giving nothing away as Peter waits for a verdict-- knowing that there was little Peter could say to persuade him if the man’s mind was truly made up.

“So,” Mr. Stark finally says, a glint in his eye, “you’re saying that you can protect me too, huh, Spider-Man?”

Peter grins mischievously, taking on a hopeful tone when he replies, “I mean, you did tell me in writing that Miss Potts has saved your life like, seven _billion_ times-- and she’s not even a superhero. So, yeah. I guess I am.”

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rise as he leans forward, wagging a finger in Peter’s face. “First of all, young buck, let’s get one thing straight. Pep is more than a superhero-- she’s a goddess. I’m half-convinced she could wield Mjolnir if she ever decided that hammer was worthy of _her.”_

“She totally could.”

Tony leans back just a bit, looking slightly appeased. “And second, I thought we agreed that our text conversations were sacred, never to be uttered aloud. Or is it now fair game to mention while your aunt’s around the time you--”

Whipfast, Peter swings an arm out, covering Mr. Stark’s mouth with his palm. “Don’t you dare, Mr. Stark. Even without superpowers, May’s hearing is even better than mine.”

At Mr. Stark’s continued silence, Peter lets his hand drop-- laughing and swiping at the man when Mr. Stark reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Speaking of my incredible fiancee, Pepper has me booked for a video conference with a renewable energy start-up in about ten minutes. Anything I can have sent over for lunch?”

“A dozen churros?” Peter quips, Mr. Stark’s eyes narrowing in response. “Okay, guess that’s a no... uh, spaghetti? And garlic bread? With a glass of chocolate milk?”

“Can do,” Mr. Stark says, standing up. He’s about to turn away when Peter softly calls his name again.

“What’s up, kid?”

Peter gives a hard swallow, feeling suddenly apprehensive-- all his earlier bravado gone. “We’re... we're still on for the weekend then, right?”

Mr. Stark doesn’t say anything at first, instead reaching out to ruffle Peter’s hair again-- Peter letting him this time without complaint, a soft giggle escaping when Mr. Stark pushes his curls down so they cover his eyes.

“Yeah, Pete,” Mr. Stark says, straightening and walking over to the door before turning around and giving Peter a soft smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Come hang out with us on tumblr: [blondsak](https://blondsak.tumblr.com) and [seekrest](https://seek-rest.tumblr.com).


End file.
